


When the rain falls

by trustmeimjoly



Series: Vies d'Amis [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, She does always give me the best inspiration, from MySunFreckle's ask on Tumblr, rambling nightime walk, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22146262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustmeimjoly/pseuds/trustmeimjoly
Summary: Jehan cannot sleep tonight. There are too many things in their head, feelings and shadows and light.So they head to the Seine, always as tumultuous as their spirit feels. There, they know, they will find answers to the questions that burn them.
Relationships: Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire
Series: Vies d'Amis [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596019
Kudos: 15





	When the rain falls

**Author's Note:**

> Little bit of JehanParnasse!  
> MySunFreckle gave me a prompt, because she is an angel, and because I've always wanted to write Jehan.  
> Enjoy!

The wind is howling outside, making the windowpanes shudder slightly, but the rain is quiet, small drops hitting the roof with a soft and irregular pitter-patter. Yet despite the soothing noise, the soft candlelight and the slight rosemary scent wafting through their flat, and no matter how much they twist and turn in their bed, Jehan cannot sleep. There are words that resonate in their head, echoing strangely in their heart.

“You look different today.” Feuilly’s words had erupted in a breathy whisper, while the others debated the importance of safe spaces. The look on his face had been amused and slightly puzzled.

“Do I now?” The corner of Jehan’s mouth had quirked into a smile, and they had tilted their head, wondering what their friend meant.

“Yeah. Like…” There had been a raised eyebrow, the flash of a teasing and surprised grin, and then the completely unexpected and totally unnecessary question. “Are you in love?”

Memories of hushed conversations, eyes as dark as the night sky and an incandescent feeling had assaulted Jehan, and they had startled before answering, too quickly.

“Aren’t I always in love? With the world?” they had said with a swift, slight smile, cursing their useless tell-tale heart as it skipped a beat.

“This is different.” Feuilly had answered, and Jehan had known he wasn’t fooled by their less-than prompt and satisfactory response. He was too perceptive for his own good.

“Is it really? I don’t feel different.” They had said, but from the way Feuilly had raised his eyebrows and turned away with an incredulous and excited grin, Jehan had known they had lost the debate.

But now the words echo in their mind like a broken record. One could always count on Feuilly to discover things before oneself and yet leave one with questions and barely enough ways to find out exactly what this meant. Surely, they’d have noticed if they had fallen in love?

‘ _Love comes like a thief. It is never really expected,_ ’ their own voice whispers back to them. ‘ _Isn’t that what you told Enjolras a few days ago? Well, now he’s dating R._ ’

‘You’re insidious,’ they answer themself.

‘ _And you are so troubled that you are talking to yourself again. Go outside, little poet._ ’

Jehan sits up in their bed and looks out the window. The rain seems to have stopped, and the world is a quiet whisper of air. Quickly they pull on their yellow jacket and rain boots, wrap one of Feuilly’s thick rainbow scarves around their neck and, as quietly as possible, exit their apartment.

It must have been around two in the morning; and Jehan leaves the dark, winding Parisian streets that they live in as they head towards the only part of the borders of the Seine that is uninhabited at this time of the night. The rain has left the city with the fresh and heady scent of spring storms; and it would seem lifeless if not for the strong gusts of wind that still sweep through the streets in eerie, ghostly wails, chilling Jehan to the bone.

And yet it is moments like these that make Jehan glad to be alive.

The storm outside reflects the storm inside, branches twisting as their leaves tremble and brush against each other in a captivating ballet of shadows. How do you know if you’re in love? Jehan has always been in love, they think. When Joséphine from the bakery downstairs slips them a fresh piece of bread in exchange for a poem, her hair more golden than the crust and her smile twice as warm; when they walk through the woods in the early morning and the lilies are just starting to open again, releasing their sweet scent in the morning fog, dewdrops pearling their way down the petals. When the fire in the Musain’s chimney during late-night meeting casts gorgeous shadows on the walls and the lights in their friends’ eyes rival those of the burning embers; when their flute’s ethereal melody breaks through the mountain’s silence, clear as the springs that sing their way down the slopes, birds singing back to them in a way that, in that moment full of eternity, they just might understand.

The wind playfully feathers its breezy fingers through Jehan’s long locks, and they smile. This they are sure they are in love with. But a person? Of course they know what it is to love, they are so full of the feeling that they cannot stop their heart from overflowing. But to be in love, to long for someone until it hurts, to care so much you are dizzy with it, drunk on the intensity, high on the plenitude, and to be happy. So happy. Who wouldn’t want that? No matter what hardships come with it?

The storm outside soothes the storm inside, as the beauty without calls to the beauty within, and Jehan can feel themselves breathe more easily as a sliver of moonlight illuminates the tumultuous waters of the Seine.

‘ _You spend too long with Enjolras. You think too much, little poet. Just feel._ ’

After all, that is true. Why question it? Whether it is real or not, it is another adventure, another path of life. The wind whistles past, approving, and Jehan laughs, the weight eased off their chest. The night seems more beautiful, and just as the fog has been lifted from their mind, so the clouds have left the sky clear and the stars twinkling with what seems like sweet complicity.

Jehan sits on the stone parapet that overlooks one of the banks, looking into the waters that serpent beneath them, the light catching waves and ripples as they breathe in the scent of the night, fresh moonlight gleaming its way through their lungs. They don’t know how long they sit there, feet swinging to a rhythm they cannot recall and the breeze chilling their skin in a gentle caress. They only know that suddenly, there is a presence next to them.

Skin that could rival the moon’s silver-white gleam, with features as chiselled as those of a marble statue. Dark locks swept through by the wind’s loving touch, eyes carved out of bitter ebony. So pale, and yet the shadows follow him closely, as if calling him back to them. So still, his body unmoving and yet his eyes follow even the slightest of Jehan’s movements. Montparnasse. Their shadow boy.

“You came.” It is not a question. The words have left Jehan before they can even think of them, and they are coloured with certitude and a soft tinge of amazement. Their eyes have taken the ethereal shine of the moon.

Pale lips pull back to reveal pearly teeth in a smirk, and the shark-like gaze softens slightly. “Did you doubt it?” His voice is low, smooth as a stone, and the question lacks the edge it requires to hurt.

Jehan smiles, and Montparnasse’s guard slips for a second as he is hit by their lovely light.

“Not for a second.” Their tone is light, and the laugh that peals through the night is the most beautiful sound Montparnasse has ever heard.

He takes their hand.

He doesn’t doubt them either.


End file.
